


The Art of Saying Goodbye

by BlackVelvet42



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Dominance, Endgame Fix-It, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 11:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11356569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackVelvet42/pseuds/BlackVelvet42
Summary: “Starfleet may fill your days, give your life meaning, even. But it's not home and it's not love.”





	The Art of Saying Goodbye

Earth.

Was it always so bright, so vibrant in its colors of blue, white, and green? So dear with its familiar shine?

Every person on the bridge held their breath, time standing still for all of them.

"That's it. Everybody out." Chakotay's voice rose above their bewildered thoughts. Plain, harsh, and unusually commanding.

"Excuse me?" Kathryn turned towards him, as did everyone else, abruptly shaken out of the swirl of emotion.

"You heard me, Captain, clear the bridge. We need to talk." His tone a little softer now, but no less resolute.

What was this about? They'd just survived another confrontation with the Borg, one leading them to the doorstep of home, no less. What was so urgent that it couldn't have waited awhile?

"Commander, let's continue this in my ready room," she offered, biting back a sharper retort, and headed towards her sanctuary, where she would have the upper hand on whatever he was going to pour out.

"No, Captain. Here. We're going to talk right here." She stopped mid-step.

It wasn't like him to make a scene, to challenge her in front of everyone, and she watched him closely.

He stood firmly in place, crouching over the console on the upper level like a man on a mission, looking down at her.

Irritation was starting to stir inside her, at his arrogance, a needless display on a moment like this, demands he had no right to portray. Why wasn't he kissing Seven by now, sharing this monumental experience?

But he was staring at his captain, like she was the last person left in the world. And there was something in his posture that told her he was not going to let this go. Maybe it really was that urgent, whatever he needed to discuss.

The seconds as they held each other’s gaze, their wordless duel charging the air, seemed to freeze all life on the bridge. Nobody moved, not a breath could be heard.

Fine. It was their last moments on this ship, their long journey coming to an end. They'd all given so much of themselves for this mission, their survival, and against all odds, they'd actually made it. If this was what he wanted for his sacrifices, she'd allow it. It wouldn't be the last special request from her crew, she was sure of it.

“Mr. Tuvok, reroute communications and command control to engineering. I'll inform you when the Commander and I are done.”

Done. Why did that ring so undeniably, so irrevocably true?

"Yes, Captain," Tuvok replied, not a hint in his stoic voice to suggest there was happening anything out of the ordinary. Always the dependable one, never questioning her orders.

If things were different, she might have smiled at the swiftness her crew fled to the lift. Heads bent downwards as if to avoid getting caught in the crossfire they knew was about to erupt.

Then she saw Seven leaning closer to Chakotay, saying something so quietly she couldn’t hear it, and her insides twisted again. But his response was short, his focus maintaining on his target.

The doors swooshed closed as the last one left and they were alone. Only the familiar low humming of the engines and the dazzling globe on the viewscreen keeping them company.

Neither wanted to be the first to look away, to yield in this silent, pointless battle of emotional dominance, and the tension was growing palpable.

This was the place they had first met. It was only natural that this would be the place where they would say goodbye. And staring into the onyx of his eyes the memory surfaced without warning.

That first day she had felt a current, a pulse, a draw. Still hidden in the shadows of chaos, the turbulence of lifetimes altering course, but there to be sensed anyway. Pressing her hand on his solid chest to calm and to control, it became a spark. Something she almost flinched away from. And as his gaze turned to lock with hers, she found herself captured.

Did he feel it too? Did her touch burn him through the thick leather, did her voice make him tremble like the universe had shifted?

Although vivid, it was still nothing more than an echo of a time long gone, and those people someone she didn't recognize anymore. So much had happened after that moment, words and choices she would take back in a heartbeat if she could.

And yet here they were, again.

It was she who backed off, retreated. "What do you want, Chakotay?" she asked, easing her confrontational stance, her tone suddenly so very tired.

He dropped his defenses, too, and rubbed his forehead in frustration. Struggling to put his thoughts together.

"This is not how I pictured it," he said at last, his words filled with sorrow.

“Our return home?" She hoped he would quit the stalling and just get to the point. She had no patience for this right now. Or ever. "How did you picture it, then?”

He didn't answer, but strode down the steps and moved to her by the helm. Things always got complicated when he stood so close and she busied herself with the flight controls.

"What… What do you plan to do once we get back to Earth?" he asked cautiously, searching for the right approach to finding common ground. Or at least something that wouldn't lead to another argument.

She shot him an annoyed look. "We've been here less than an hour and you expect me to have an answer to that?"

"For me, yes." His eyes narrowed with equal annoyance.

“What does that even mean?" she questioned in full attack mode again. "Why should you be entitled to any information concerning my future? Don't you have a life of your own to think about?”

Her temper rose so easily with him nowadays, the heat of anger flushing her cheeks.

The silence stretched before he answered. "My life became entwined with yours a long time ago, Kathryn. I need to know." His confession was barely a whisper.

It took her a second, but then it dawned on her what he was referring to. The promises, given on a planet at the other end of the galaxy, by two people swaying on the verge of eternity. Still able to awaken in her unwanted feelings, making her blink fast to brush it aside.

He remembered? How could he? They'd never spoken about it after that, and certainly never acted on it. By her decision, of course, but he hadn’t protested. Not enough, anyway.

Did he consider himself... obligated in some way? The last shred chaining him to this life, this past. She’d been sure those vows were long set aside, buried under all the disappointment and misunderstanding, deeds and words meant only to hurt.

“You need closure, Chakotay?" she asked in disbelief. "I don't know what to say. I thought we passed that point years ago.”

Something in the way his eyes dimmed by her condescension made her heart ache.

“But if you really need to hear me say it, then I will." Tempering her tone, gathering her composure, bracing herself to tell the lie he needed to hear. "I'm very happy for you and Seven. A little surprised, I guess, but I know you will have a wonderful life together.”

It sounded unconvincing even to her own ears. He looked briefly away and let out a long breath. Of relief? Acceptance? Giving up?

“Don't talk about Seven like she's of any concern here." He turned back to her, reaching out to touch her, almost, then letting his hand drop to his side. But his gentle gaze still bored deep into her soul. "I'm asking who is going to make you happy?”

Ignoring the insinuation in his question, uneasy with the turmoil it was creating, her answer came a little too quick to be remotely plausible. "Starfleet will probably keep me busy until the end of my days." Accompanied with a smile that didn't reach her eyes it was a weak attempt to lighten the mood and divert the conversation, but she hoped he would take it and end his line of questioning.

"Starfleet," he said slowly, emphasizing each word, "may fill your days, give your life meaning, even. But it's not home and it's not love." Despite the straightforward ruthlessness, what he said was true, painfully so. Like she didn't know it very well. Why did he have to prolong this?

"Oh, I don't know about that. I figure there might be a long line of officers waiting to warm the bed of a captain who returned from the Delta Quadrant in one piece." The words were out before she had a chance to consider them. Meant to disturb him, drive him away, because she didn't want this weakness he was eliciting, opening old wounds she'd worked years to seal.

But she'd hurt him, once again, by rejecting his last effort to connect with her. The pain passing over his features cutting away another piece of her heart.

It left him with nothing to lose and the anger billowed in him, unhindered. Alerting her with his sudden, complete change of demeanor.

Discarding the compassion and affection that didn’t seem to make any difference to her, he grabbed her wrists and crushed her against the console. Compelled to attain by force what he couldn't with his fragile sincerity, a recognition that he meant something to her.

And there it was. On his face, plain to see. The lust she thought had withered before it had ever really grown to bloom. Fiery, consuming, binding.

It was a revelation, an intoxicating victory, heating her up and leaving her breathless. That he would still want her, after all this time and everything she'd put him through. Craving her just like she'd always craved him, even after the flirting had dampened to forced politeness.

The pulsing response of her body was instant and overwhelming, but clouded with sadness. Realizing that this primary urge was all that was left of a friendship, a companionship, a wondrous promise of a life by his side.

But perhaps this was what they both needed. To let go of all that and to move on to something better and real. To help carry them through this transition, a rite of passage.

Maybe it would be a thrill, maybe a disappointment, but at least they wouldn't have to wonder ever again. Of what it felt like to hold each other, grind their bodies together, if not to love, then to say goodbye.

And she didn't try to hide her hunger anymore, a strange freedom after years of self-restraint, but relaxed her body into his, pressed her hips closer and parted her lips, letting her features soften with desire.

Witnessing his reaction was another triumph, to see him crumble at this mere suggestion, and the soothing rush of control swept over her.

“Don't toy with me, Kathryn," his strained voice warned her, "Not if you don't mean it.”

Mean what? That she wanted him, here on the command center that had become their home, that was about to be ripped away from them. To fuck him this one time to help them both let go of something that almost was.

Yes, she wanted that.

She reached her lips up to his, only to be stopped an inch away as he was still holding her wrists in a death grip. She could see that he was hesitating, not able to decide if he should accept what she was offering, not knowing what it meant. But tempted and exhausted, of this dance they'd been doing for so long.

Letting go of his caution with an audible sigh, he released her and cupped her face in a desperate kiss.

The feel of his mouth claiming hers was nothing short of a miracle. Tender and bruising. Asking and owning. Demanding and giving her every chance to back away.

It rippled through her from head to toes, from the depths of her heart to the moist heat between her thighs. Meaning everything when it wasn't supposed to mean anything.

It didn't feel like a kiss for goodbye. It felt like a beginning.

The intensity of it was more than she could bear and she broke the kiss, fumbling for the opening of his jacket, trembling fingers attempting to tug it open. Terrified to pause even for a second or to think of anything else but the throbbing in her core, knowing she would lose her nerve to do what she intended.

His warm hands came to her aid, swiftly shedding his uniform and proceeding to remove hers. His mouth latching onto her skin, so sensitive after the long neglect. Caressing her with tenderness she didn't want.

Stripping her from her captaincy, her past, her firm knowledge of how her life was meant to be played.

Sinking down to his knees, sliding her pants past her hips, parting her legs for him. Bare and defenceless.

The first flick of his tongue had her clutch the conn in shock, eyes shot open. The first suckle at her aching nub made her head drop back with a moan that filled the entire room. She'd turned this down? For seven years?

It felt almost too intimate, like a service for someone you… care for, very much. Not something you do when you’re looking for a quick release. The thought was somehow unsettling, disturbing her balance.

So when he got up, his mouth glistening with her essence, she pulled him to her in haste, urging him to fill her fast. Needing him to make her mind numb with lust.

Ultimately, it was the way he said her name as he pushed inside that made something irrevocably quake within her. Something fortified over the battles, the losses, and the strain of a never-ending responsibility to uphold an entire community with her power of will alone. Beginning to fall apart, losing bits and pieces of her precious armor with every deep thrust and soft sigh.

She panicked.

This was not what she bargained for. Not this feeling she thought she had buried. Not this vulnerability that would be the end of her when he was finished with her. And when he cried out her name again, hiding none of his affection for her, she pushed him off and out of her.

Flaming eyes met his confused ones.

"I meant you can fuck me. This once. Before you move on to whatever happiness is waiting for you." Her voice cracked with mixed emotions, not even knowing what was true anymore, but certain that this was what she had to do.

She turned around, bending over the helm and spreading her legs, and looked back at him over her shoulder. "Please."

He stared at her for a long time, like she was speaking a language he didn't understand. Almost too long to endure when she was offering herself to him like this. And then the hurt on his face transformed into fierce determination.

The fury with which he grabbed her hips and thrust inside was a relief. The harshness as he took a handful of her hair and pressed her down was an absolution. He was already letting her go. And she wouldn't be able to hold onto him anymore.

But once he was sheathed inside her all the way, locking her between him and the console, he stopped.

"Look at the viewscreen, Kathryn," he prompted. And when she didn't shift fast enough, he forced her head to tilt backward.

"What the hell?" she yelped, startled, struggling to get away from his grasp, but instantly silenced as he fisted her hair tighter and bent to slide his other hand between her thighs.

"A simple question, Kathryn. Where do you want to live?" His smooth baritone resonated close to her ear, its gentle tone a sharp contrast to the other parts of him, inflicting pain and pleasure in a dizzying mixture.

His fingers were stroking her soft flesh, his hardness moving deep within her, but too slow, not nearly enough to satisfy. It was difficult to think, impossible to resist, weak whimpers the only answer she could give him.

A place to settle down? Yes, she'd thought about that many times.

"Indiana. I want to live in Indiana." She finally managed to breathe out and was rewarded with a sharper thrust.

“Indiana is fine. Good," he murmured, nibbling her neck. "Now, how many children do you want?”

"What?" She was getting disoriented, her clit throbbing under his touch, her insides craving for friction, demanding for more than this light teasing.

Did he really ask about children?

"How many, Kathryn?" His fingers added some divine pressure and he pulled nearly out of her, only to push inside again at a maddeningly slow pace.

It was so hard to form intelligible words when she trembling all over and her legs were barely holding her and she felt like weeping over the storm of sensations and all she could think of was when, oh when, was he going to slam into her with his full force.

“Two," she sobbed, tensed tight as a bowstring, her back arched to grant him a deeper access. But he wasn't taking it and she knew she was close to begging. "Or even one, if I'm given any.”

Her lips were spilling truths that had never been voiced before, some too painful to even think about, but it didn't feel important. Not compared to the slow mounting ecstasy he was generating in her, taking over her whole existence.

"I was hoping three, but one is a good start." And finally, like a reward to her obedient answers, he picked up his pace, pounding her behind in a stark staccato rhythm, his grip on her hair loosening and moving down to cup her breast, making her moan louder as the wild heat in her core begun building up exponentially.

"Tell me, who do you see fathering those children, Kathryn? Who do you envision keeping you warm at night?" He was still speaking, she realized, his words penetrating her frenzied haze with difficulty. "Who do you hope to stay by your side, to be there for you through everything, until the end of the world?" It was all a blur, but still evoking unexpected images of home and family.

Kissing him freely under the wide, blue sky. Making love with him on the sun-heated grass. Lying beneath him, sweaty and spent, peaking together in their shared bed. Waking up, sheets crumpled, to his smile and kisses and whispers of love.

"Chakotay, please..." She could feel his hot breath against her neck, his solid body and sure hands working her in perfect tandem, behind her, around her, inside her, coiling her towards a life-altering release.

He was teetering on the brink, straining to delay just a little while longer, to ask what he’d meant to ask before his voice had grown hoarse with this free fall of emotion. "I don’t want to leave Voyager without you. Kathryn, will you marry me?"

That was the final push to send her over the edge.

A thunderous orgasm shot through her, ripping her apart in gold and white, her answer torn from her lips as an unrestrained cry, "Oh, god, yes!”

He climaxed right after her, grunting and gasping his relief at the nape of her neck, holding her with his arms wrapped tightly around her.

They stayed like that, shuddering together in the sweetest of embraces, until the last waves quieted to a heavenly bliss and the only sound was their heavy breathing filling the air.

Gradually, the big picture of it all pushed through her high.

She'd been proposed to, by her first officer, during sex, on the bridge, on the eve of their return – and she'd accepted.

It was ridiculously reckless yet absolutely appropriate, and she felt a giggle as light as a birdsong bubbling in her chest. Years of burden still weighing on her, but already beginning to lose its grip. For that alone, she would be forever grateful to him.

And for everything he had been to her from the moment they met, she would love him for an eternity.

Only he didn’t know any of this. Hesitantly, he pulled out of her and turned her around in his arms, his every move painted with uncertainty. Keeping her close to him as if afraid he might lose her again. Not sure to what she had so vehemently agreed upon and searching her eyes for confirmation.

She didn't want to witness that doubt on his dear face ever again.

Tears of joy blurring her vision she reached to stroke the line of his jaw with trembling fingers, her lips curling into the happiest smile of her life.

"I meant it, with all my heart. Yes, I will marry you, Chakotay.”


End file.
